I had a few teaspoons of berry honey needing a home. I found a small glass jar that came with Italian yogurt. It made the perfect container.
When I was little, riding in the car to my grandmother's house, she used to point out the Seattle skyline. "There's the Space Needle," she taught me. "And that black skyscraper nearby is the Box the Space Needle Came In." A sky-high container.
When morning comes and day asks my participation, I need to sort hopes. When an afternoon presents a quiet space, and my To Do list is spilling all over, I need a place to put things. I may have a dab of an idea, a leftover poem, or three cookie-sized stories. Some ideas loom large, casting a city-wide shadow over all my dreams.
They don't come with containers. I need containers.
This is why I write.
What containers do you use in an ordinary day? Think: kitchen. Also: garden or garage. Also: life.
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